


Lindworms

by Ariasune



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Prenatal Loss, Technical Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariasune/pseuds/Ariasune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when you think angels are winged dickish humans, you end up with a rude reminder, a half-assed sketch of a cat-dragon-bird and that cold realization you're not enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lindworms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lashameless (LaShameless)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaShameless/gifts).



> In which the working title becomes the title, seriously if anyone has any suggestions for an alternative I am entirely open to it.
> 
> So, I wasn't expecting to get an Mpreg prompt, and this is my first attempt at the genre. It gets sort of a bad reputation - and I can see how - but I've read some truly amazing ones, so it was nice researching and working on this. 
> 
> Hope I did a decent take on it, but really outside my comfort zone - which was awesome - but really outside my experience as a writer, so just bear that in mind!

The familiar sound of feathers was becoming more and more like some kind of whirring TARDIS for Dean Winchester. A few flutters, and you can expect an angel to explode into the room. Usually Castiel of the never-ending stare. Of course, Dean hadn’t really expected Castiel to show up; he’d been busy running around heaven for almost half a year now. They’d seen each other, sure, about two months back, but it wasn’t exactly regular house visits.

Dean still prayed every so often – often asking for help on a case, and an angel was a whole lot of help. Most often, Castiel ignored it; occasionally zapped a book to Sam’s desk, called a couple of times. Not that Dean minded sorting out the entire Heavenly mess and situation with Cas' grace, but he would have liked a bit more than a hello goodbye. Dean was actually starting to wonder if he’d pissed Cas off.

So when Cas fluttered into the room looking more than a little haggard, Dean was more than a little surprised. He covered it up with a friendly grin.

“Long time no see.” Dean greeted, grabbing a pile of print-outs as Castiel sat down a little too heavily. “Y’alright there Cas?”

“No,” Cas took the file and peered at it. “This is probably a lindworm.” He frowned. “Are there any cows in the area?”

“No?” Dean pulled the file back, imitating Cas’ voice. “You’re not alright?” He eyed Castiel.

Cas yanked at the file, and Dean figuring otherworldly strength would either rip the papers in half or take them, let go. “That is what I said.” He flicked through a few more. “Lindworms eat their brides, it does not make for a happy marit-”

“You can’t just not be alright and not elaborate.” Dean cut over.

“It is not of any great import,” Cas said methodically, voice a little dull. “But my mate died a few Earth weeks ago.”

“Mate?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a mate.”

“Had,” Castiel corrected. “As I just said, they were killed a number of weeks ago. Do you have any cows in this area?”

“I doubt it,” Dean frowned. “Angels have mates?” Cas looked up, gaze steely and Dean floundered for words. “I thought, y’know, you guys didn’t, cloud-seed,” Dean cleared his throat. “So how long were you guys, you know?”

“Not long, but after the war, it seemed the natural thing to pursue,” Castiel flicked another page over. “This may be the Prince Lindworm, which would be worrying.”

“Who?”

“The Prince Lind-”

“No, I mean, who was your, you know?”

“Mate?” Castiel set the papers to the side and rubbed his forehead. “Sidriel,” Cas cracked a faint line of a smile. “They had nice wings.”

Dean snorted gently. “Halo version of nice tits, huh?” He laughed. “So how ‘bout your wings?”

Cas’ smile spread slightly, before fading again. He picked up the papers once more. “You’ll want lye and milk – fresh is ideal but – and whips.”

“Whips and chains and safewords and milk.” Dean nodded. “You coming?”

Castiel got up, cracking his neck in what was apparently discomfort.

 

* * *

 

The Lindworm dispatched and the more apparent danger dealt with, Dean grabbed Cas and Sam by the scruffs and yanked them towards a bar: “To a job well done,” Dean explained, glancing at Castiel meaningfully. “And to recent losses.”

Sam blinked at Cas, as he slid into a spot at the table Dean had decided upon. “Lose some soldiers upstairs?” Sam patted Cas’ shoulder. “Sorry.”

Castiel shrugged, “I believe Dean is hoping to offer sympathy over the loss of my mate.”

“Angels have-” Castiel frowned. “Oh, well,” Sam coughed. “My condolences.”

“Thank you.” Castiel said gravely, when Dean returned, clinking three bottles of beers on the table.

“Drink up, then.” Dean advised, taking his own advice with gusto, when Castiel took a sniff at the open neck of the beer, curled over to the side and threw up on Dean’s shoes.

 

* * *

 

“Angels should not be sick.” Dean growled out. “He is puking his guts out in there,” Dean jerked a thumb at the motel bathroom. Dean had luckily not been forced to educate Castiel on how to throw up over a toilet – apparently his more recent stint as human had included that. “What could be wrong with him?”

“Ask him?” Sam tapped a few more keys rapidly. “I’m googling and there doesn’t seem to be any immediate explanation.”

“Google harder then.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Castiel commented wryly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Cas, what the hell is going on then?” Dean rounded on the angel, not meaning to sound pissed, but they’d been freaking out. And apparently it wasn’t worth getting one’s panties in a bunch for.

Castiel seemed to be considering something, eying the ceiling in thought. He frowned. “I’m going to stay here, I think.” Looked at Dean. “On Earth, for now.”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was ringing tonal warning bells, none of them getting picked up.

“May I stay with you two?” Cas asked, tipping his head. “The bunker theoretically would have room, but you may have guests already.”

“What is up with you?”

“I’m feeling…” Castiel clicked his tongue, searching out an appropriate word. “Rebellious.”

Sam glanced between Dean and Castiel, uncertainly, and shut his laptop carefully. “Of course you can stay,” He offered, glaring at Dean just in case. “But we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah,” Dean interrupted. “Angels don’t just run temperatures and they most definitely don’t end up puking over a toilet bowl. They just don’t.”

Castiel adjusted his stance, folding his arms over his chest. He glared back at Dean, before finally spitting out a mouthful of nonsense. “The continued nausea and internal thermoregulation variations are most likely a result of the combination of vessel and grace responding to the invasive nature of foreign gracial mitosis.” He lifted one shoulder and let it drop in a shrug. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“Huh?”

“Foreign gracial mitosis?” Sam’s face screwed up.

“It’s really nothing to be concerned about,” Cas gritted out. “The only meaningful change is that I will be running on a reduced power level for…” Castiel gave it some thought. “Half a year.”

“Half a- what sort of reduced?” Dean frowned.

Castiel shrugged. “Reduced.”

“Gracial mitosis.” Sam repeated to himself. “Cas, is your grace degrading? Are you falling?”

“No.” Cas answered smoothly.

“You dying?” Dean cut in.

“No.”

“Sick?”

“Technically.”

“Angels don’t usually get sick, so,” Dean gestured emphatically. “You gotta understand where our concern is coming from.”

Castiel shifted from foot to foot. “I told you, it’s-”

“No, you didn’t tell us,” Dean stalked over to Castiel, glaring. “You told us a load of jargon to avoid the question.”

Cas straightened, narrowing his eyes back. “It’s personal.”

“Personal, huh?” Dean blinked, unimpressed and eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Cas repeated firmly.

“And you wanna let us in on it?”

The angel looked off to the side in discomfort. “No.”

“Why?” Dean demanded, stepping as close to Castiel’s personal space as he could. Not that it would have mattered to Cas, who had very different definitions for too close for comfort. For a human, it would have been threatening.

Castiel cleared his throat, “You would ask me a series of frustrating, difficult questions, make more than a few jokes at my expense and in all likelihood, be deeply unpleasant towards me. And it would not help.”

“Well how do you know it won’t help?” Sam asked suddenly from the side. “You know, if you don’t tell us.” Sam shrugged meaningfully. “Just saying.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed at Sam, frowning.

Dean waved his hand at Sam. “See, how would you know.” Dean took a half-step back. “Look, I’ll even promise to not make jokes, I can be pleasant.” Cas tipped his head, skeptical. “Mostly, look, I’ll keep it to twenty questions.”

“Far too many.” Castiel muttered ruefully.

“Five?” Dean held up his hand and Cas frowned. “Three?” Three fingers. Cas’ expression didn’t change. “Okay,” Dean held up two fingers. “Two, just two questions.”

Sighing, Castiel inclined his head. “Two questions.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Cas answered. “Technically.”

Dean stepped right back into Castiel’s space. “Why are you sick?”

“My grace is being used to sustain and cultivate other lifeforms, as they strengthen, it causes disruptions between grace and vessel.”

“Lifeforms, what lifeforms?" Dean blinked.

“You have already asked me two questions.” Castiel retorted, stalking past Dean and peering out the window, more avoiding Dean than anything else.

“Cas,” Sam said slowly. “That really doesn’t sound like nothing’s wrong.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Lifeforms feeding off your grace? Sounds really fucking wrong to me.”

Sam opened his laptop again and typed a few words into google, leaned back and then forward to click several items. “Is it dangerous?” He asked suddenly.

“No, it is not.” Castiel clarified.

Sam shrugged at Dean, but Dean scowled. “Yeah, that’s what we say every time we withhold information. And every single goddamn time we do this and think oh hey not dangerous it turns out to be very dangerous.” Dean dragged Castiel away from the window. “What is going on?”

Castiel examined his shoes, and when Dean gave him a light shake, Cas simply pried Dean’s hands off him, looking off towards the wall.

“Fledglings.” Castiel managed.

“Say what?” Dean frowned at Castiel in confusion.

“It’s just fledglings, they’re not dangerous,” Castiel bit out. “They repress my abilities, but they are not dangerous.”

“Fledge what?”

“Baby birds.” Sam supplied and Dean scowled back at Sam.

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean glared. “I’m not an id-” He sighed. “Cas, what are you telling us?”

“I am telling,” Castiel eyed the ceiling, frustrated. “You,” He shuffled foot to foot. “That,” He measured the words carefully. “Baby birds.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Think about it. Just,” Sam took a breath. Clearly he understood, and Dean glared at him for not just spitting it out in clear words, “Ponder, just think about it, consider the words baby birds, the first one,” Sam inclined his head meaningfully. “You know, in particular.”

Castiel gave an annoyed sigh, deeply interested in the ceiling.

“You knocked a girl up?”

“Oh my god.” Sam exclaimed. “Cas is the girl. How do you not get that? How can you be so oblivious?”

“Why break the habit of a lifetime?” Castiel put in a little icily.

“Huh.” Dean stepped back rapidly, backpedaling. “But you’re-” Dean gestured at all of Cas. “You know.” Dean looked between Sam and Cas. “A dude.”

“Angels lack genders, Dean,” Sam began typing into his laptop, and catching Cas’ eyes. “Guess this wouldn’t help?” He shut his laptop ruefully.

“Sam is correct,” Castiel edged round Dean. “Angels lack clearly delineated sexes.”

Dean gave a long and deep sigh, before snatching up the Impala’s keys. “I’m going out.”

 

* * *

 

The drive back to the bunker was awkward.

Dean was focused on the road, hands holding the steering wheel at the perfect ten to two position, and Sam was fiddling with the radio station rather pointedly. Castiel sat in the back, eying the window, mouth set in a thin line.

Dean tried not to ask questions, he really did. Castiel’s remark about Dean asking him a series of difficult and frustrating questions was more than a little accurate. Dean wanted to know every grimy detail – and yet he really didn’t. He didn’t want to know what cloud-seeding entailed, but damn if he wasn’t curious as to how in the hell, heaven, and/or earth Cas ended up with a-

Not a prego belly, Dean’s eyes flicked at his rearview mirror at Castiel who shifted about on the spot. Cas didn’t look much different, a little unhappy but he always looked a bit sour.

Ended up with, and that was it, Dean was asking questions.

“So was it planned?”

“Excuse me?” Sam asked, and then twisted to look at Castiel who gave a rather deep huff of frustration.

“No,” Castiel directed his attention at the back of Dean’s head. “Angels don’t plan fledglings.”

“Accident, alright,” Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So,” Dean hummed to himself. “Fledglings, like more than one? Humans usually have one. I mean, I hear it’s fucking painful so more than one would suck for, humans, y’know.”

“Three or four would be normal.” Cas shuffled uncomfortably on the spot.

“Sucks.” Dean gave a low and very uncomfortable whistle.

“Dean…” Sam murmured in warning.

“So, painful then?”

“Dean.” Sam repeated.

“Like, you know, spitting out baby angels,” Dean continued heedlessly. “That hurt?”

“Does it hurt as they tear their way out of my grace by force?” Castiel asked sarcastically.

“Yes, then, hurts like a bitch, got it.” Dean coughed.

“Dean, shut up.” Sam pulled a face.

“Can you name one after m-”

“Dean!” Sam raised his voice. “Leave Cas alone.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean groaned. “I was just asking.”

There was a long, awkward – pregnant, really – pause.

“I don’t actually get to name them.” Castiel commented.

“Fuck.” Sam swore, turning around in his seat to face the window.

 

* * *

 

“Stupid question, but,” Dean scratched the back of his head. “Why aren’t you in heaven? I mean they probably have the,” He looked down at the chicken thigh he was cutting into. “You know, facilities for baby angels.”

Castiel looked down at the small pile of peeled potatoes, and flicked a peeling off his hand into the sink. He swallowed uneasily. “I didn’t know Sidriel that long.” Castiel began slowly. “We were in an early courtship stage, I am not sure we would have-” Cas shook his head. “But he is dead, as are many of my kin, some by my hand.” Castiel picked up another potato and looked at it, lost in thought. “Fledglings go to the frontline before even their wings grew in, I did not…I did not wish to…” Castiel trailed off.

Dean paused, watching Castiel stare down into the sink, shivering ever so slightly.

“You don’t want your babies to die.” Dean toyed with the cooking knife.

“It is selfish.” Castiel said as though he was agreeing with Dean. “But I have disagreed with heaven before, and likely will again, this seemed,” Cas resumed peeling the potato. “Worth it.”

“Dude,” Dean scowled. “It’s really not selfish.”

Castiel shrugged, methodically rolling his shoulders as he continued to peel the potatoes.

“I’m serious,” Dean shook his head. “Sending kids to die is, you just don’t do that on this planet.” He dug the knife into the meat. “That’s wrong, that’s,” Dean cut the knife in too hard, scoring the cutting board. “It’s sick okay, it’s sick. Anybody who lets that happen is, there’s something wrong with them. Trust me.”

“Without that sickness, I do not think you or Sam would have survived your childhoods.” Castiel dropped the potato into the bowl of peeled ones. “Armageddon would have proceeded as planned.” Castiel raised his eyes and then looked back down at the food, looking lost. “I don’t know what will be lost because of my inability-” Cas coughed around his words. “My failure, to-”

“Cas,” Dean insisted, slapping the chicken down on the side and quickly stepping over to Cas, pulling the peeler from Castiel’s hands and holding them in his own. “Protecting kids is not a failure. Not wanting to sacrifice your,” Dean felt an awkward smile twist on his lips. “Protecting your baby birds, dude that is not selfish, that’s what you’re meant to do.”

Castiel pulled away, wringing his hands loose from Dean’s and trying to reach for the peeler again.

“Castiel.” Dean said firmly. “This is worth it. Whatever is or isn’t or could or couldn’t be, your choice right now is worth it.”

“Mh.” Cas grabbed the peeler, fingers digging into Dean’s.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, and waited until the angel met his gaze. “You’re doing the right thing. Far as I’m concerned, you’re doing the only thing to do.”

“I’m running.” Castiel pointed out distastefully. “I am hiding.”

“I’d do the same thing.” Dean scuffed one foot, and released the peeler, pulling away from Cas. “Like, the hand you’ve been dealt, I’d do what you’re doing.”

Cas watched Dean meaningfully, slowly picking up the next potato, and glanced down at it as though he’d only just discovered he had hands. It occurred to Dean that, maybe that’s what it was like for an angel – even one in a vessel as long as Cas – what was five or so years of human compared to millennia of who knows, but whatever that who knows was, it could get knocked up.

“That is reassuring.” Cas said slowly, rolling the words on his tongue. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel has morning sickness, although when Dean calls it that, Castiel narrows his eyes and frowns. But Castiel definitely has what amounts to morning sickness. Cas can rave all he wants about it being a result of the dividing grace upsetting his vessel, but it’s morning sickness plain and simple.

“Have you given any thought about how to raise fledgies on Earth?” Dean asked as Castiel staggered in from the bathroom.

“I hadn’t thought that far.” Castiel gingerly hopped onto the other couch, tucking his legs under him. Maybe baby angels really are baby birds because Cas has been perching on furniture more than sitting.

“I don’t know what we’ll do for vessels.” Sam put in from his familiar place at his computer.

“They won’t need vessels,” Castiel looked confused.

“They won’t?” Dean took a good bite of club sandwich.

“Their wings don’t grow in until they’re at least a month old.” Castiel blinked. “Their grace is not powerful enough to cause damage to humans until their wings are full-grown.”

“We get to see actual angels then?” Dean looked at Cas with interest.

“Fledglings.” Castiel corrected, leaning over to eye Dean’s sandwich. “Are you going to-”

“Have at it mama bird.” Dean passed the sandwich over. “So what are fledglings like then? Tiny cherubs with harps and fluffy wings?” Castiel began trying to swallow the sub and Dean chuckled. “Cas, you’re gonna make someone very happy one day.”

Castiel swallowed his bite and peered at Dean queerly.

Sam scrunched up a piece of paper and threw it at Dean’s head. Cas watched it with interest, and Sam grinned at Cas, asking, “What do fledgling angels look like, though?”

Cas shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, chewing it roughly and leaned over to pick the paper up. He uncrinkled it. “Pen?” Sam sent it in a smooth underthrow, and Castiel caught it elegantly.

Dean leaned over to watch Cas scribble something out in biro: it had spindly wings, claws, bright eyes that Castiel almost scribbled out, fur and teeth and scales in weird places like a strange convoluted mess of a creature.

“Cute.” Dean said sardonically, and Cas held it up for Sam to inspect, Cas turned the paper back round, considering it.

“Gracial singularity… wavelength version of that.” Cas shrugged uneasily. “I looked like that at any rate.” Castiel bit his lip. “Sidriel was more,” Cas paused to draw another tiny scribble of what looked something like an eldritch abomination of a fawn. “Like that.”

“You were a strange kid, Chrysler building sized?” Dean commented, obviously hands are going to be weird for Cas. “Look anything like that nowadays?”

Castiel considered the sketch. “On some levels, I am that size. It’s difficult to explain.” He tipped the sketch to the side. “And on others I do not resemble this at all… and nowadays… it is very difficult to explain.”

“How big are these things?” Sam has wandered over and took the paper from Castiel, with interest. “They going to be Chrysler? That’d be hard to keep hidden.”

“That would be good to know, you said there’d be like three of them.” Dean paused. “How long do they need- geez Cas, what is the plan?”

Cas looked more than a little shaken: “I don’t know, a few months,” He examined the picture. He made a gesture with his hands that implied roughly newborn sized, and then widens the gap between his hands. “Until their wings grow in.” Sam brushed the winglets at the picture’s back.

“A couple of months minimum then? Well,” Dean looked more than a little wary. “By then they’d either need vessels or to go back to heaven.”

“Heaven.” Castiel answered firmly.

Dean nodded. “Alright, how big will they be by then?”

“Large canine.” Castiel went for, and then looked sheepish. “Maybe smaller; I had to grow into my wings.”

“Couple of months of freaky great dane angels,” Dean nodded. “No big deal then.”

“They won’t be canines.” Castiel paused, something crossing his mind and appearing on his face as trepidation. “They will be combat ready within several days.”

“So they’ll attack us?” Dean demanded.

“Fledglings defend themselves, they would not attack purposefully.” Castiel sounded more than a little defensive himself. “But…” He trailed off.

“Fussy, feisty?” Sam tried.

“Intelligent.” Castiel answered. “Capable, curious, difficult, alien, strong.”

“Cas,” Dean says rather slowly. “We’re not sure what we’re dealing with, but what exactly do you know about baby angels?”

Castiel settled uncomfortably into the couch. “Very little.” Cas looked off to the distance, gaze focusing and sharpening in thought. “During the civil war there was another viability period, but almost none of that nesting period survived and I had other preoccupations.”

“Viability period?” Sam’s eyebrows quirked.

“If immortal beings were consistently fertile,” Cas explains as though he’s teaching Sam to say his alphabet. “Heaven would be overrun and unmanageable as a fighting force; when there is a population drop of some significance, the gracial energy of heaven shifts in such a way as to encourage the conception of young to replenish the armies.”

“Shit lot of good that does if you throw ‘em to their death.” Dean muttered, and Sam frowned.

“What?”

“The dickheads throw their babies into the frontline before they get their pretty wings or something.” Dean shook his head. “S’why Cas is staying the hell out of dodge.”

“The ones conceived towards the tail-end of our wars tend to fill the population gap and the use of the ones prior minimizes further population damage.” Castiel murmured. “It’s not ideal, but it is the custom. Fledgling training absorbs resources we require.”

“Shit custom.” Dean shook his head. “Whatever, we’re not letting your baby birds get barbecued straight out of the nest, but what are baby angels like? What do they need?” Dean glanced between Sam and then back at Cas. “Pacifiers? Diapers? Stuffed toys? What about food? Do they eat? Milk? Baby formula?”

Sam blinked at Dean.

Cas looked a little affronted. “They can feed on my grace.” He gave a short sigh. “Ideally they would have had another set of wings to feed on, but that is obviously impossible with their father dead.”

“They eat your wings?” Dean gaped.

“No, they,” Castiel uncomfortably shifted. “They nurse on-” He glared at Dean, just daring him to laugh. “They nurse on my grace, and my wings are the logical way to do so.”

Dean goes in for the bait, “Wings are definitely angel tits.”

Sam backhands Dean’s head and Castiel looked at Sam with relief.

 

* * *

 

Castiel is shoveling eggs into his mouth, and even chatting between bites about what it was like to be human for so long after Metatron’s actions, and about how hideously gross eating is. Nevertheless, Dean scrambles some more eggs – a pan on the stove, and a bowl in the microwave – because Cas has been vomiting enough that Dean wants to feed him, and Cas is apparently hungry enough from vomiting that he very much wants to be fed.

Something about generating additional energy using the vessels natural process. Whatever it is, Cas put away the food with vengeance. Making up for lost millennia famine-style.

And without thinking, Dean opens his mouth and asked: “What was your mate like?”

Cas paused between bites, mouth hung open and he glanced at the fork, and then set it down. “I drew a picture,” Cas started. “He looked like that.”

“He?” Dean isn’t actually surprised: angels are weird. “No, never mind that, I mean, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“As I said, it was not for a long time,” Castiel poked the fork thoughtfully. “I was considering ‘breaking up’ when Sidriel was killed.” Castiel punctured the sentence with air quotes.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean poured the eggs he’s just made onto another plate, and the microwave beeped.

Cas picked his fork back up and took a bite of scrambled eggs. “Nothing like that,” Cas took another bite, swallowing before he spoke again. “I wasn’t ‘feeling’ it.” More air quotes.

“I guess if Sid were still alive, we’d be putting up with him too.” Dean shrugged, taking the spot opposite Cas, and pushing the bowl of microwaved scrambled eggs towards the angel. “Given how it turned out.”

Cas played with his food for a moment. “I do not think Sidriel would have agreed with my actions,” He reached out to tip the bowl of eggs onto his plate, but his expression was gummy and uncomfortable looking at the eggs piled high in front of him. “Likely Sidriel would have to simply take me back to heaven by force; gestation has occasioned insanity in angels before, so there are facilities to keep me in line, and he would have followed traces of his own grace easily.”

“Everything I hear about upstairs sounds like shit to me,” Dean started on his own plate of eggs. “Keep you in line? Insanity? Sounds like bullshit.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel shuffled his fork through the eggs uncertainly. “I would have agreed with them until recently. Now I suspect the supposed insanity may be parental instincts normally rendered dormant by cultural repression.”

“So you think God gave you guys fatherly feelings and then angels twisted it?”

“Humans have done very similar things with their godly gifts, and it explains the strong familial bonds angels form.” Castiel nibbled a forkful of egg. “Our mate instinct is also very clear – Sidriel would never to think leave his fledglings on Earth. He would have condemned them to certain death, if only to watch over his unborn young before their birth.”

“So you guys definitely have the loving parental fuzzies.” Dean asked, grinning round his breakfast. “Teaching them to walk and read and tie their shoelaces, get them through school and hope to god they leave for college?”

Castiel chuckled quietly. A strange new affliction from his time as a human was that laugh; a bizarre and dry sense of humour. It’s somewhat angelic, but completely removed from whatever counted for humour amongst angels – Uriel comes to mind – and Castiel is far funnier than Uriel ever was.

“Not that, but I would like to teach them to fly.” There’s a hint of a smile, and Dean grins in encouragement.

 

* * *

 

Dean is half-way through an old bit of parchment when Sam has got his bag – Dean’s bag at that – and is dumping it on the chair. “You’re staying with Cas.” Sam’s voice is firm. “I’ll go check out the case by myself.”

“What? Dude can look after himself, and you definitely can’t.” Dean insisted. “Why am I staying with Cas?”

“Because he asked.” Sam’s thin voice suddenly makes sense, and Dean is just fucking confused.

“He asked?”

“Yeah, and he didn’t look happy about it either,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and Dean can just see Sam going full-gorilla, beating his chest with his hands and okay Dean snorted. “Don’t be a dick, Dean.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean settled back. “I wasn’t laughing at Cas anyway. I’ll stay with the mama bird, it’s fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s only later when Castiel is wrapped in a coil of his own limbs, staring at the T.V that Dean looked over at the angel, his face pale against the glow of Tangled. Dean has a slight uncomfortable pull in his stomach, but doesn’t know what it is.

“How reduced is your power level?”

Castiel answered, his eyes not moving away from the damn chameleon. “I lost my capacity to fly a week ago, and whilst I can still manage my blade, I am otherwise,” He paused, finally looking away from the stupid film. “My batteries are not completely drained, but they are fully diverted.”

“That why angels have that protect mate thing?”

“Yes,” Castiel shut his eyes, letting himself rest against the side of the sofa with a long sigh. “I am very vulnerable without my mate,” And Cas simply keeps talking “Sidriel would also be involved in feeding them normally, so I will struggle to feed my young with only my grace, even assuming the nesting is not an absurd number, if I am unlucky then I may seriously snap a leyline and bleed out, and even should that be avoided, the feeding will still make me consistently tired and my grace will be fractured from the birth to begin with,” Castiel frowned. “I have heard it is very painful and that I may want to burn out my own young if I react badly to them, and I do not know how to react well,” Castiel’s voice trails off, then picked up again as Cas traces lazy sigils in the couch arm. “I do not know how to babyproof this bunker, and I would feel embarrassed if they leave talon marks on your possessions, or worse bite any of you, and yet I am not sure I would be able to manage them alone, and all in all, I do not know very much at all about fledglings…”

He looked so utterly defeated by the prospect of what is most likely the start of this huge, crushing list of things he has to figure out. Dean was completely off the mark when he told Sam that Cas could look after himself: Cas would probably sit on his couch in a vague stupor left to his own devices.

“First time mother?” Dean asked quietly, because he’d sort of assumed that but hadn’t asked.

“I have not so much as interacted with a fledgling,” Castiel said quietly. “I know of them in abstract, and I am beginning to feel that is insufficient.”

“It’s only a few months, Cas,” Dean tried to reassure the angel. “Their wings grow in, and it’s like birds right? You get to send the kids off to college early.”

“Perhaps.” Castiel murmured, and it hit Dean like a ton of bricks: Cas is trying very hard to get out of his way. He’s gone to Sam and Dean for help, but as soon as the fledglings are flitting around, Cas is taking them up to heaven and that might be the end of the story for Sam and Dean, but it just starts it for Cas.

“How are they going to manage heaven?” Dean asked, feigning the casual question.

“Poorly,” Castiel answered from his curled up spot on the couch. “I will need to come up with an appropriate explanation for raising them on Earth. Even for a short time.”

“Demons.” Dean supplied.

“Something like that may serve the purpose,” Cas mused. “But after that, they will still be thrown into the fray. With wings they may stand a chance but, they will be inexperienced and that will likely kill them anyway.”

Castiel sounded defeated at the thought, and Dean heavily got to his feet and flopped down next to the curled up angel. Awkwardly he balanced a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“So, we’ve got a few months to teach them some hand-to-hand. You said they were intelligent quick.” Dean commented. “Or we could keep them on Earth you know? Look into vesse-” Cas has jerked up, with panicked eyes. “Or not?”

“They would likely kill several people learning how to vessel.” Castiel said stiffly.

“Is that how you learnt?” Dean demanded and Castiel looked away.

“I had some theoretical experience and,” Cas traced another absent sigil into the couch. “Practice on dying creatures. It takes awhile to develop a feel for the technique.”

“No vessels then.” Dean went with.

“Locating appropriate bloodlines with impending deaths available several times over would take resources we don’t have,” Cas decided. “Teaching them a little of fighting would be good, and sigil work, and a number of Earth languages.” Castiel is perking up considerably. “The more useful they are the greater the possibility they may be moved to training instead of the frontlines.”

“That’s the spirit, Cas,” Dean said a little wryly. “Besides, your kids would make great ang-”

“Terrible angels,” Castiel finished. “Rebellious and headstrong and-”

“I like angels better that way.” Dean insisted. “Anna was nicer when she was Anna, and you used to be a fucking jerk in a trenchcoat and now you’re, well,” Dean waved his spare hand in the air. “You’re family, so I hope your little birds are more like you than Sidriel, heck, you didn’t even like him that much.”

Cas tipped his head, shifting about to face Dean more directly, Cas’ legs still curled up towards himself.

“No, he was conservative, and too forgiving.” Castiel said, the faintest ache of dislike in his voice.

“Forgiving? That’s not a good trait?”

“He would have let me get away with treason,” Cas explained, the ache flowing into an earnest emotion. “I need criticism to avoid my mistakes and he would have indulged them.”

“Fair enough then, not a good fit.”

“He also mocked my wings.” Castiel added under his breath, and wriggled his shoulders self-consciously.

Dean laughed. “I’ve seen his baby picture – he looks like a garbled attempt at a deer; he can’t talk.” Dean settled his arm more comfortably on Cas’ shoulder. “You, man? You look like a cat-dragon-beast of awesome. Badass.”

Castiel gave another hint of a smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s hand tightened slightly. “Why’d you even date him given all that?”

“I do not understand.” Castiel said in the same forceful voice he used when he very much did understand.

“Sidriel. He’s traditional, made fun of your wings, would have dragged you back to heaven himself,” Dean ticked off the traits in his head. “He doesn’t help you improve yourself, which matters to you or something. Why’d he end up being your mate?”

Castiel shifted away from Dean and uneasily murmured, “Angels are not meant to be alone, and,” Cas frowned uncomfortably. “I am respected in Heaven – I am a fine strategist, and display great creativity in thought.” Cas sat up a little straighter, leaning away from Dean’s hand. “My wings are strong, my knowledge of sigils is excellent and my swordwork is polished, but I…” Cas shook his head. “I have a poor reputation.”

“You have a poor reputation?” Dean repeated. “I guess that follows with devil deals, siding with humans…”

“Indeed,” Cas sighed, and concluded a little dully: “It has been a long time since I felt wanted.”

“I want you,” Dean says without thinking, because Castiel looked absolutely miserable, dejected. Castiel looked up at him, startled like a cat who hears a crash of thunder. “We want you here.” Dean continued. “You’re family, you’re needed, you’re wanted even.” Dean resettled his grip on Castiel’s shoulder. “You don’t need to angelfuck a guy you don’t like because your esteem is down the toilet, it never works out well, trust me.”

“Dean, you have no concept of angelic reproduction whatsoever.” Castiel replied smoothly. “But, you,” Castiel cleared his throat. “You are wanted.” Cas locked his eyes on Dean’s. “You are strong and sure and giving in ways that matter beyond explanation – do not doubt that.” Satisfied, Cas redirected his attention to the movie.

“Thanks.” Dean said after awhile and Cas hummed in acknowledgment. Awkwardly, Dean adjusted on the couch. “How uh, does…angel… angelic clouding fledge makin’ uh-?”

“Angelic reproduction?” Castiel doesn’t look away from Tangled.

“Yeah,” Dean coughed. “How does that work: just for reference.”

“The ritualistic merging of Grace,” Castiel commented, sounding almost wry. “The intention is to leave traces of the other participant’s grace lodged within your own.” Now he is definitely wry. “I had hoped taking Sidriel’s grace within my innerlines would strengthen the failing courtship.” Cas shook his head. “Generally it would have eventually been consumed – digested even – by my own grace.”

“Except you were in season?” Dean asked, pulling a face at the thought. “Also, innerlines? Think I need a crash course in Biology 101”

“Essentially,” Cas agreed. “Instead Sidriel’s grace has merged with fallow aspects of my grace.” Cas snorted. “It is incredibly inconvenient.”

“And Angel anatomy?”

Castiel traces four concentric circles in the air. “Angels are at their center a singularity of divine intent, which as it radiates outwards becomes more wavelength in nature.” He seems to be considering something, “Just as light is both particle and wavelength, the core or root lines are both singularity and wavelength.” Satisfied, Cas continues. “The pattern of the intent defines the pattern of the grace, or leylines. The three areas of leylines are Core or Root, Inner, and Outer. The closer one approaches the singularity at the heart of an angel, the more intimate the gracial merging is seen as. Does that make sense?”

“Uh, yeah I guess. You mix your souls up for sex.”

“Crude, inaccurate.” Cas frowned. “It is more sensory in nature, the intimacy arises from the inner and core lines communicating emotion, thought, self…”

“I can’t explain it, but I get it.” Dean is still mostly freaked out at what he’s very sure was a description of angelfucking, even if apparently that term isn’t accurate or whatever. It takes a heck of a lot of work to continue the conversation, and he had asked about it after-all. Dean basically wants to amputate the side of his brain asking a never ending, unceasing number of questions.

Castiel was right; frustrating, difficult questions like what an angelic orgasm is like, or if Castiel is going to be horny hormonal. The first question that comes to Dean’s mind that isn’t preoccupied chiefly with angel sex is practically leapt upon.

“Dumb question, but do you guys have angelic abortions?” Dean frowned, looking over in sudden alarm as he realized how shitty that question sounded. “Not that I’m suggesting you get one at all, and we’re doing all this to keep your baby birds alive, but in general, um,” Dean blinked. “Like it does sound inconvenient.”

“It does seem possible to extract the developing grace, although painful I would think.” Castiel was lost in thought. “I have never heard of such a thing however.”

“Y’all are catholic girls, then.” Dean nodded.

“I am sure some vessels are Catholic females…” Castiel looked down at his body. “James Novak was neither when he was alive.”

“Someone I knew had an abortion.” Dean said quietly. Castiel twisted to examine Dean carefully, eyes squinting and Dean took in the silent question. “Yeah, mine.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel settled on after a few moments.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lady’s choice, and anyway, I’m not a shining example of parenthood anyway, wouldn’t have wanted to have someone to let down.” Dean muttered. “Everything was a lot simpler this way, but,” Dean considered the matter. “I’m trying to say I think you’re doing the right thing - even if it isn’t simple.”

Cas shuffled about in his spot, slightly irritated. “Thank you, but I would never have considered deliberately killing fledglings.”

Dean nodded, pulling Cas against him as Rapunzel sheared her hair off on the screen. Trying to unruffle the angel’s metaphorical – or maybe not metaphorical – feathers. “I wasn’t saying you would, I’m just saying, fuck, I’m proud of you for speaking up for your kids when Heaven wants to go western front on them; that’s a good thing to do. That’s all I’m saying.”

Castiel allowed himself to be pulled in, and awkwardly patted Dean’s arm. After a moment, he said very carefully, “I am still sorry for your loss, though I do not understand it.”

Dean shifted unevenly, and finally said in a near-silent murmur, “Sure you do, that’s why we’re doing this, right?” He looked firmly at Disney Pretty Boy’s on-screen death. “Because you understand why it-” He cuts off before some half-dead emotion from the past comes up his throat and Castiel rubs his fingers over Dean’s arm in quiet commiseration.

 

* * *

 

They fall asleep like that mid-way through watching The Blues Brothers, crooked together, with Castiel’s fingers light and comforting on Dean’s arm. Cas woke groggily, aware on a very dim level, that he is in hideous, and intense pain. He is better than whimpering, or possibly disturbing Dean over it, but still carefully edged away from Dean. Swallowing in discomfort, trying to undo the tight knot in his throat, Castiel curled over the armrest, shivering.

The pain fades abruptly as it starts, but Cas throws up on the floor. He spends his shuddery recovery cleaning the mess up, and once he’s finished, he staggered into his room.

To his frustration – and wry amusement at his own behaviour – he has nested. The sheets are tucked into a loose circlet, worried into layers and tucks of space. Cas kicked a pillow at the side, irrationally unhappy with its position.

Finally, satisfied again, Castiel collapsed into the curled sheets, Cas rolled around until he could find a position that doesn’t make his head swim, and then he stutteringly fell asleep again.

 

* * *

 

Dean slammed the book down on the side table with gusto, “Rise and shine, Castiella,” Dean tapped the large book. “Guess what we’re doing today?”

Castiel rolled over, grimacing: “I feel sick.”

“Y’look sick,” Dean grinned. “Go do your morning puke, and meet me at the table.”

Cas stretched, rolling out of bed and sluggishly staggering towards the bathroom, grumbling about how useless sleep was, but also how he wished Dean would not wake him up. By the time Cas returned from his morning conversation with the toilet, his mood did look improved and he peered at the book with interest.

“You said normally the Host gets to pick out names,” Dean pulled the book open. “Well, the Host aren’t going to name our adorable baby birds.”

Castiel took a seat warily, still eying the book.

“Adorable may not be the word that comes to mind.” Castiel said uncertainly.

“Nonsense,” Dean shucked a hand. “They’ll be family and family is adorable, even Sam.” Dean grinned. “Samu-el, could call one Sammy.”

“Then how would we be able to distinguish their names?”

“Sam, Sam Jr.” Dean beamed, and began flipping through the book. “So, three or four baby birds?”

“Three.” Castiel confirmed.

“Use a tricorder on yourself?” Dean licked the pad of his finger and turned another page. “Don’t suppose you know the genders.”

“Angels do not possess clearly delineated genders,” Cas answered with infinite delicacy, as though he were personally offended to repeat the factoid. “Especially when so young – they would likely not self-identify as male or female until they took a vessel.”

“If we have three of each sort, or a bunch of neutral names we’ll be set. The kids can identify however they want.” Dean decided. “I want one named after me, D-D-D…” Dean’s finger ran down the page. “Daniel?”

“No.” Cas pulled a face. “Daniel is irritating, and I would never fight with him alongside me, as I would consider running him through in irritation and it would not affect the battle given Daniel is a horribly unskilled warrior.”

“Not Daniel.” Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Alright, what sort of names can our babies have to avoid being teased at in angelic kindergarten?”

“My.” Castiel corrected. “Enochian or Biblical names.”

“My?” Dean cocked his head, and then turned back to the book. “Esther?”

Cas nodded his head in acceptance.

“Hannah?” Dean flapped through the book randomly, Cas gave another solid little nod and Dean frowned at him meaningfully. “Are you just agreeing to any names I say?”

“I like those names.” Castiel shrugged absently. “Tobias, Samandriel.” Castiel offered out of nowhere.

Dean jotted down the four names that had arrived far too easily, pausing over Samandriel just as Cas gave a small wince, scraping his chair back momentarily. “Kicking?” Dean joked nervously, and Cas resettled in the chair. “Well that’s four out of six: Tobias, Esther, Hannah, Samandriel; we should make the last two ‘el names.”

“Araqiel, perhaps?” Castiel said after a moment’s thought.

“Sure, sounds cool,” Dean scribbled the name down. “Ishmael? Ish is a good name for a kid. Castiel gave an almost reluctant nod, and Dean shoved the book away from him, passing the list to Castiel. “You know when the kids are born, you never pick a name from the list. I was going to be a Henry.”

“Dean suits you far better.” Castiel said bluntly.

 

* * *

 

“So what was that mess you made of your bed?” Dean asked curiously, and is honestly surprised when Castiel outright shuffled on the spot. The angel is blushing, fiddling with his hands, and looked deeply uncomfortable.

“Nest.” Cas explained uncomfortably.

“Are angels just giant birdies for real?” Dean snorted, and Castiel shuffled even more uncomfortably. “Hey man, it’s cool, you’re having babies, you’re full on pregnant or something, like a bit of nesting isn’t even anything.” Dean paused. “Uh, are you going to lay like eggs?”

Castiel outright goggled at Dean.

“That’s about a no?” Dean grinned dryly. “How does it work then?”

Cas considered his vessel for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Dean is now goggling at Castiel. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I am not sure how it works with a vessel.” Castiel said carefully. “Were I not tied to this vessel, I would heavily consider vacating it for the duration of labour.” Dean winced at the last word.

“Fuck, well,” Dean considered the matter. “Can we untie you from the vessel?”

“Not at this stage in gestation.” Cas replied carefully. “I have anchored myself to this vessel, and the fledglings are embedded as well.” Castiel looked contrite. “I apologize, I was not aware I was impregnated at the time.”

“Yeah, but what does this _mean_?” Dean demanded.

“Mean?”

“Is this going to kill you?” Dean asked. “What about our baby birds, they gonna be alright?”

“My.” Castiel said clearly.

“My what?” Dean snapped. “What does this vessel binding mean?”

“There may be damage to the vessel, I suppose,” Cas considered. “But vessels are born with certain immunities to angels, and fledglings have weaker grace than adult angels. So not permanent damage.” He nodded. “I suspect it is simply a matter of whether or not they will rip apart my abdomen in some manner.”

“But you’ll be down on grace when that happens.” Dean frowned. “You won’t be able to heal as you normally would.”

“I am sure it will be fine.” Cas insisted. “Painful, but fine.” Castiel hopped up onto the bed gingerly and kicked at the duvets a touch, and then eyed Dean, flushing as he the expression morphed into a glare. “Are you going to help or are you not?”

“Uh.” Dean watched Cas kick a lumpy section of sheet, and continue to glower at him. “Yeah, sure, okay, what needs… doing?” Dean hopped up onto the bed warily, standing at the edge of the mess.

“Fix what’s wrong.” Castiel stated decisively, and then ducked away, rubbing the back of his neck in thought.

Dean toed the edge of the nest, and Castiel gave a flicker of a smile in approval, and Dean had this sudden, deep sinking feeling like a hole in the earth had just opened up in his stomach. Something along the lines of this was something Sidriel was instinctually meant to do, and Cas had adopted Dean as a make-do, and Dean almost leapt clean out of the ‘nest’ except Cas was…

Well, Cas was pregnant. You don’t just… Cas was pregnant, you don't leave a pregnant lady not a lady hanging.

Dean kicked at another corner of the nest, and Cas’ approval transformed into a thankful nod, and Dean was pretty sure they were going to have to talk about this.

 

* * *

 

“Sam’s gonna be back soon,” Dean was lounging along the outer-edge of the nest, entirely satisfied by the coils of sheets now that they had upended the linen closet into the bed. Castiel however had been darting back and forth, adding a series of puzzling objects from puzzling locations.

An empty carton of eggs, some talisman from the basement, half a dozen trashy murder mystery books, Dean’s least favourite pair of socks, and Sam’s spare laptop charger, just to name the latest additions. Cas was busy fussing over how best to lay the charger, when Dean prodded him firmly on the arm.

“I said, Sam’s gonna be home tomorrow evening.”

“I heard,” Cas frowned. “I can’t get this to work.”

Dean sighed, yanked the charger from Cas’ hands and blotted the wire into the nearest wall of the nest. Although, by now, Dean would have called it an endless eldritch abomination of a nest, it seemed to sit (mostly) right by Castiel.

“Okay,” Cas flopped down into the nest, crinkling the sheets and one of the books. He pulled it out from under him, and tossed it in an even arc to the floor. “That… that’s sufficient.”

“What is this even about?” Dean rolled into a sitting position to eye Cas. “The nest I mean.”

“Not sure.” Castiel decided. “Most likely if angels were to properly raise their young there would be nests involved, perhaps as a sleeping area, given angels do not otherwise sleep and would need to create somewhere for the young,” He eyed the nearest wall. “This is apparently an approximation.”

“With egg cartons?” Dean nearly nudged the carton but remembered how long it had taken to make Cas happy with it, and like hell was he doing the egg carton dance again.

“It feels right.” Cas defended, and rolled away from Dean.

“You’re pretty embarrassed about this nesting thing huh?”

“Yes.” Cas growled, and tucked into himself.

“Guess it’s a bad time to ask if this is something your mate is meant to do.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Castiel gave a limp shrug, tucking further away.

“Yeah and the-”

“Don’t ask questions.” Cas snarled, eyes flicking over his shoulder at Dean with an unmistakable expression of shame and frustration.

“Yeah but I mea- hey!” Castiel had gotten to his feet and kicked Dean clean out of the nest, baring his teeth at Dean. “Cas, what the hell? We spent an hour on this thing.”

“It’s fine.” Castiel snapped, settling into the nest.

Dean settled on the floor, rolling his eyes at Cas. “That wall is fucked.”

“I can fix it.”

“You do it wrong.”

“I do not do it wrong.” Castiel snarled, flicking the egg carton at Dean. “Get rid of this.”

“You being hormonal?” Dean smirked. “Thought you said you wouldn’t get unreasonably pissy.”

“I am not being unreasonably pissy,” Cas snapped. “I am clearly uncomfortable about an instinct I did not know I would possess,” He stared down at Dean in annoyance. “Further said instinct is making me behave in an extremely strange manner, and you are concerned I am using you as a surrogate mate.”

“Well,” Dean demanded. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. Probably,” Castiel frowned. “I am incredibly uncomfortable about my dependence.”

“Yeah,” Dean got to his feet angrily, and gave Cas a furious look. “How do you think I feel about that then? No forget it, fuck this.”

Castiel’s eyes were sharp on him as he stomped out, not accusing, somewhat guilty, incredibly sad. Dean was half-tempted to go back in there, I mean, he’d just been a massive dick to a pregnant… chick? Cas seemed pretty birdlike. But no, Cas had already roped Dean into this, to do some sort of improvised imprint on him was too much.

 

* * *

 

“I think you feel uncomfortable, given my vessel’s gender, human customs surrounding pregnancy and domesticity, and your homophobia,” Cas scowled. “I am meanwhile in discomfort and pain and trying to repress my behavior as well as I can, and I am fully aware I am failing to.” Castiel stared Dean down, before shoving what looked like a shitty store-bought, slightly-burnt pie at Dean. “I apologize, I hoped you wouldn’t notice my slipping.”

“You’re in pain?” Dean’s eyes dropped to Castiel’s middle which elicited a long sigh, and Cas continued to offer the pie to Dean.

“Yes, I am in pain,” Cas shifted foot to foot, proffering the pie. “This is an apple pie.”

“Should you be in pain?” Dean took the pie, and set it on the counter, before turning back to Cas and reaching out cautiously with his hands. “Where is it hurting?”

“The pie is rapidly cooling,” Cas frowned, still shifting foot to foot. “It will be far more-”

“Shut up about the pie, thank you, yes,” Dean stepped round Cas, avoiding the personal space barrier, but hands still held out. Somewhere between placing them on the shifting, uncomfortable angel, and thinking it was a bad idea. “Where does it hurt? Should you be in pain?”

“I’m sorry I am behaving as though you are my mate.”

“I know,” Dean frowned, watching Castiel’s discomfort spread through him until Cas was shifting every few seconds and entire body taunt, and quivering like a viola string. “It’s okay, seriously, the job description for an angelmate is what?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel reported thinly, and retreated away from Dean’s rapidly approaching hands.

“You’re the only info we’ve got.” Dean clipped his hands back, and leaned back on his heels placatingly. “What are your instincts on the matter?”

“Keep me safe.”

“Can and have and will do.” Dean ticked that off in his head, still following the lines of unease in Cas’ body.

“Feed the young with your wings.”

“No can-do, but if they go in for more physical fare, I can handle that.”

“Fix the nest.”

“Will do.”

“Feed me.”

“Have done.” Dean chanced a step towards Cas. “What can I do?” He took another careful step. “Cas, should you be in pain?”

“I don’t wish to argue with you,” Cas mumbled, eyes reminiscent of an animal in a trap. “I would prefer us to remain civil until my behavior is more reasonable.”

“We’re not arguing,” Dean said soothingly, wondering exactly how worried Cas must have been to cook him a peace gift of pie, despite whatever aching pain was currently making the angel jumpier than a bag of cats. “No worries, Cas, where does it hurt?”

Dean had somehow made it right next to Cas, and now pressed a careful hand to the angel’s side, watching for a change in Cas’ expression. He shouldn’t have bothered, liquid fast Cas had himself on the other end of the room, wings shadowed along the wall, and eyes dilated until they were almost black. A ball of defensive fury, laced with the familiar angelic wrath.

“Easy, easy,” Dean tried, ducking down to minimize his threat level, but Cas full on bared his teeth at Dean, and sighing, Dean sat down slowly. “Should you be in this much pain?”

Cas snarled, although Dean noticed Cas hadn’t drawn his angelblade. There was that at least. Although if eyes were daggers and looks could kill, that feral look was a good contendor.

 

* * *

 

As the pain leeched out through Cas’ feet, he felt the tension unhinge from his body, and slowly puddle out. Along with his behavior. Dean had shifted his attention to the stone-cold pie that he was nibbling on, when Cas unballed. Dean’s eyes flicked up to meet Cas’.

“Y’alright?”

Castiel found himself dumb-founded by his actions, a briefly panicked expression on his face. “I believe so.” He managed, voice a sharp coil in his throat.

“Not going to go gonzo on me again?” Dean set the pie aside gingerly, and raised both hands placatingly. The gesture irritated Cas – shamed him.

“Dean,” Cas remembered flinging himself away from Dean’s touch, and a fear gripped him and throttled him. “You’re unharmed?” He demanded too quickly, flush full of fear.

“Not that kind of gonzo,” Dean reassured. “Still in pain?”

“Just discomfort.” Cas mumbled, testing out a wing carefully.

“Should you be in pain?”

“My innerlines are slender,” Cas said slowly, and tested the other wing out. “My grace is opening them up to continue to nourish the fledglings.”

“Anything we can do for the pain?” Dean edged over towards the angel.

“Not as such.” Cas frowned uneasily.

“Any way to open up the lines more gently?” Dean asked and then wondered exactly what he’d just said, given Cas went from uneasy to bright red within the space of the question. “I just… said something kinky as, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Cas smiled weakly, reassuringly. “I should have educated you and Sam on angelic anatomy and etiquette a long time ago…”

“Not just winged dicks,” Dean smiled back like watered down drink. “Winged dicks with culture.”

“And dirty talk.” Cas says like it’s uncomfortable sitting there at the back of his head.

“Yeah, I figured.” Dean patted Cas on the shoulder.

“Typically my lines should be looser.” Cas explained, agitated. “I haven’t often occasioned… innerlines.”

“You gave Sid your angelic virginity?” Dean blurted out, and Castiel’s agitation increased. “Oh man, preggo on your first go.”

“Dean.” Cas’ voice was a unique form of grating torture.

“Cas,” Dean shook his head. “I dunno how much value you put on your cherry, but considering you’re what six trillion billion and only just let someone dick around in your grace… Cas, seriously, you didn’t like him. What’s up with you?”

“I explained this,” Castiel glowered at Dean. “I explained this – I’m unwanted,” Dean opened his mouth in protest. “In Heaven, by angels.”

“Yeah but you stayed single for millennia.” Dean insisted. “Why was it suddenly so important you hook up?” Dean looked Cas dead in the eye. “He didn’t, I dunno, angel-force you?”

For a few moment, Castiel appeared lost for words, before shaking his head firmly and rigidly. “No, I was not raped,” Cas inhaled, looking still like he was struggling to put reason to word to voice. “It is punishable by death to do so, and I am more than capable of defending myself.”

“Capital punishment.” Dean blinked.

“If angels overlay their singularity points they are emotionally and mentally joined on a quantum level,” Cas blinked. “The risk of doing so alone justifies the punishment, and it would sever such a bond if one was made.”

“Alright, but,” Dean blinked a few times, looking befuddled. “My question still stands Cas, are you okay? You just up and decide what you need is to be wanted.”

“Is it hard to believe I could simply be lonely.” Castiel stated in clear, icy tones, eyes shut in defeat.

“You… stopped hanging out with us first.”

“You’re human.” Castiel said as though it was a simplistic solution to a puzzle that would never be quite right-side-up, and Dean bristled, felt like punching back because it felt exactly like being punched.

“And that’s not good enough?” Dean accused. “Monkeys are bad company?”

“My lines are narrow and thin, and though Sidriel would be the one to open them out, he is dead,” Cas began. “And though you have apparently replaced him you will not be opening my lines,” Cas explained, fiercely. “Nor could you.”

“Of course we’re not going to angelfuck,” Dean growled. “We’re friends though.”

“Does that make you less inclined to share a bed with a willing mate?” Cas glared furiously at Dean. “You are human, but were you physically able to open my innerlines, I would refuse you it.”

“I wouldn’t offer.” Dean snapped, and then visibly wilted. “I sorta’ did earlier didn’t I?”

“You didn’t understand the implications, just as you don’t understand the implications of lonely until it is spelt out for you,” Castiel gritted his teeth. “You are perfect company, Dean, there are none better, but you are not mating material both biologically and emotionally.”

“Which is why we just built a nest together.” Dean said slowly.

“Apparently.” Cas sighed long and hard.

 

* * *

 

“You mentioned cracking a leyline,” Dean passed Castiel a soupbowl filled with scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns. Breakfast being the perfect late-night meal. “Is that something we should worry about?”

Castiel shook his head, biting into a hashbrown and barely chewing it before swallowing.

“Not as far as I can divine,” Cas took the next hashbrown and bit into that. “I was simply being anxious.”

“But it’s a possibility?” Dean asked.

“As is your contracting a terminal disease.” Castiel blinked. “Perhaps less so? I regularly remove infections from you and your brother.”

“Uh,” Dean paused. “Thanks?”

“It is no trouble.” Cas attacked the scrambled eggs.

“So we don’t need to worry about you bleeding out or something.” Dean asked meaningfully.

“Not overtly,” Cas thought for a moment. “And should I indeed suffer such a dangerous break in a line, the leaking grace may well attract the attention of a garrison.”

“So Heaven will pick you up.”

“And the fledglings.”

“But it’s wholly unlikely you’ll end up bleeding out?”

Cas glanced at Dean through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, flecks of it on his face. He swallowed, and rubbed the back of his hand against his face. “I will leave an emergency contact for you to pray to if you are very concerned.” Castiel sighed. “My attitude is I’d be better off dying than sacrificing the fledglings, but if I die then I will put you in a position where nobody can win.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Dean grinned. “Worry about it when we come to it?”

 

* * *

 

They ended up back at the nest, rethreading the carton into the wall of it, and Dean added another - which Castiel threw out on the floor with a murderous expression. Dean peered at the angel who was now kicking one of the more difficult walls.

“Okay, what’s up with the random stuff?”

“Its chemical composition is soothing.” Castiel decided. “Brushing my wings against the stuff I have added to this nest makes me comfortable. If this nest is indeed intended for fledglings, the additions are most likely designed to keep them settled.”

“Angelic mobile for our baby birds, huh?” Dean reached over to kick the nest into line. “That should fix that bitch of a wall.”

“My.” Castiel stated and adjusted the wall Dean had kicked.

 

* * *

 

Dean fell asleep in the nest – and to the credit of their mutual craftsmanship – it was surprisingly comfortable. He woke up to a faceful of Castiel’s black hair, and rolled away sharpishly, dislodging a primary wall and waking the angel.

Castiel eyed him with delicate distaste, and crawled out of the nest, “You fix it, I need to vomit.”

Dean glared at Cas, frowning. “Hang on, this isn’t my nest?”

Cas simply arched an eyebrow in response and stalked off to ostensibly throw up somewhere, and Dean begrudgingly began repairing the damage that had been done to the nest.

 

* * *

 

Castiel was vomiting over the sink when Dean walked in. He was in the process of taking the neat corridor to his own non-nesty bedroom, when a ripple ran through Cas’ body that Dean hadn’t seen before. Castiel throwing up in the sink isn’t unusual, but there is a shiver in his back, like a cracked twig and Dean wandered over to rub his shoulder.

Cas spat a mouthful of glowing fluid into the stainless steel sink, stared down at it. Against his better judgment, Dean looked as well, kinda’ hoping for a gross concoction of carrots.

It’s mostly blood, laced with a gleaming viscous fluid.

“That’s less than good.” Dean nudged Castiel.

Castiel kept on staring at the sink, eyes wide, a fleck of red and white-gold on his lips. Uneasily, Cas brought a hand up to press against his mouth and pulled it away. His blue eyes are blown wide with panic, pupils dilated.

“Cas?” Dean rubbed the angel’s back uncertainly. “That’s not meant to happen right.”

An uneven cough wriggled past Cas’ ribs, rattling, and some more blood and gloop dribbled into the sink. Castiel rubbed his forearm over his lips, shivering.

“Cas?” Dean prompted.

“I don’t know.” Castiel murmured firmly and Castiel is the worst liar Dean has ever met. How on earth he got away with the Crowley deal for so long is more down to Dean being an idiot than anything else.

“Cas,” Dean repeated. “What’s going on?”

“The fledglings are dying.” Cas mumbled, coughing another mouthful into the sink.

“What can we do?” Dean asked immediately.

“Nothing.” Castiel managed round another splatter of blood, interlaced with the golden glowy stuff that Dean supposes are most likely what’s left of Cas’ babies.

“What can I do?” Dean waited for Cas to have a few moments away from throwing up, steering him away from the sink towards a bedroom: Sam’s actually. Stumbling over his legs, Cas collapsed on the bed and puked more miscarriage onto the sheets.

Crawling onto the bed after Cas, Dean pulled over the wastebasket and handed it to Castiel.

Cas looked at the bin with something Dean is pretty sure he’d call heartbreak, staring blankly down into it  – half-filled with bits of paper – and then he curled over and emptied his guts out into the trashcan.

“What can I do?” Dean asked again, rubbing Cas’ back in slow symbols of infinity.

“Just… here.” Cas murmured between chokes.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “I’m here, buddy.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel was curled up in the bed, looking more delicate than Dean was comfortable with. Something about implacable angels curled into tight balls, whimpering, blood pale on their lips- Dean breathed in deep, uneasy, watched Castiel shuddering quietly.

Dean carded an affectionate hand through Cas’ hair – and left to waylaid Sam before Sam walked in on a mess of blood and dead fledgling and shivering Castiel. Dean grabbed the bin on his way out, and the duvet dripping with blood and dead angel. He looked down at the objects uncertainly, before he marched over towards the sink and dumped the contents in, throwing the duvet to the side. Then he began the pleasant task of scrubbing the sink clean, the bright gleaming fluid making his eyes water if he stared at it too long.

“Hey Sam,” Dean tucked his cellphone between his shoulder and ear, already in the middle of his voice message. “Can you get us some burgers on your way home tonight? Yeah and Cas is taking your room for the night. It’s been a bad day, Sammy just, see you when you get back.” Dean swore as he fumbled the phone, hitting hang up quickly.

There was a muffled thunk from Sam’s bedroom, and Dean paused, looking down at the mess of the sink, and peeling the rubber gloves away. He made it to the kitchen door when he bumped into Castiel.

Castiel looked thin and weary and Dean had to fight the urge to wrap the angel in his arms.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, eyes darting to the sink.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean followed Cas’ gaze. “I’m just-”

“Cleaning.” Castiel mumbled dully.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said slowly, leaning his weight back, and watching each grimace that flickered on Cas’ face. “Come on.” Dean gently coiled an arm around Cas and led him back to Sam’s room. “You can stay here tonight.”

Dean pried the door open and shepherded Castiel into the room, and numbly Cas clung at Dean’s sleeves. Dean pried the angel’s fingers off, surprised he could: something about fledglings tearing their way out of Cas’ grace, reduced power, Dean wasn’t too sure.

“Hey, hey,” Dean caught Castiel’s face in his hand awkwardly as Cas twisted away. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Their grave is a sewer,” Castiel murmured hollowly. “Something died inside of me.” It’s a mess of guilt and shame and grief. “I killed them.”

“No, no, no,” Dean insisted. “It’s not your fault.”

“Who else can be at fault?” Cas answered, yanking away from Dean and pacing between the four walls of the room.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Cas.” Dean tried to touch Castiel’s arm, but Cas wrenched back from the touch like Dean had hit him, like electricity coursed between them and stung between Cas’ ribs.

“It has to be someone’s fault!” Cas yelled, snarled, roared, voice cracking. “It has to be someone’s fault, it has to be.” Castiel slumped against a wall, eyes flickering shut. “It has to be.” His voice weak in his throat. “Has to.”

“Sometimes things just happen, Cas.” Dean reached out for Castiel’s wrist, and Cas wormed away from Dean, whimpering.

“My grace was everything they knew,” Castiel bit out in steely, iron-clad syllables. “How can it not be my fault?”

Dean really didn’t have words for that. On some bony, internal level he lacked syllables to pull the guilt out of Cas, and cauterize the wound with fire and salt, he lacked the eloquence to explain, so, inexact and fumbling, Dean pressed into Castiel’s space, giving in awkwardly to the instinct to hold Castiel together, because damn it, Cas is falling apart.

And it is awkward – not as awkward as the drive to the bunker – but it’s uncomfortable and Dean pulls Cas in, trying to make the hug comfortable, comforting even. Cas nestled against Dean’s shoulder and of all things that Castiel doesn’t know how to do: it’s hugging.

Cas is clutchy, grabby, fingers too tight and maybe that’s how this sort of hug works so Dean returned it. Holding Castiel like he can press everything back together.

Dean heard a strangled, keening noise. Long, drawn out, a howl run between Castiel’s teeth. There’s a shuddery, slow and uneven intake of air as Castiel tried to find some restraint, and then the breath is out again in a harsh sob that Cas chokes on, spits out with a cough. So Dean squeezed a little tighter, and yeah, he might not have words so he just hushes Castiel, voice soothing and low. Feels the comfort bunch in his lungs, and tries to communicate that, regardless of anything else, this really isn’t Cas’ fault.

 

* * *

 

Dean is scrubbing the sink again when Sam comes home, bearing what looks like a dozen bags of fast food. Or just three big ones. Dean shifted away from the sink, and purposefully stood between it and Sam.

“I can clean the vomit, Dean,” Sam set the bags down and tried to bypass his brother. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s not vomit,” Dean stated, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s blood.”

“Shit,” Sam leaned back on his heels. “Is it-?”

“Cas’, yeah,” Dean shifted his weight to his other foot. “What’d you get?”

“Is he alright?” Sam asked, tossing the keys down next to the food, and side-stepping Dean entirely to peer into the half-cleaned sink. “Dean… it’s…”

“Grace?” Dean nodded. “Yeah, well. It’s been a bad day.” He shoved his brother from the sink, and wiped at his eyes. “Doesn’t half make your eyes sting.”

“Cas isn’t, is, he?” Sam asked, alarmed.

“No, he’s alive,” Dean said, which was half of what they ever wanted from anyone. “He’s asleep in your room; wasn’t going to make it further from the kitchen than that.” Dean shoved and scrubbed at the sink, watching the blood pink and swirl down the drain; the bright fluid separate and clump. “He lost the fledglings.”

Sam leaned against the counter, taking in the information slowly and gently.

“Whatever,” Dean scratched at a clot of dim light. “Makes it easier for him, and we don’t need to deal with an angelic freak kindergarten.”

“Dude,” Sam’s face twisted. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Leave it alone,” Dean growled and Sam closed his mouth at Dean’s tone of voice. “Anyway, I told him he could stay in your bed for a bit though, you can take his but like he made a nest of it, think I should clear that out? I dunno, seems like something to do but maybe he’ll want to do that himself.”

“I don’t know?” Sam shook his head. “And look, no worries, I’ll use a guest room, it’s no trouble.”

“He’s beating himself up over it,” Dean continued scrubbing madly at the sink. “I want him to stay here until he’s good, given what the god squad do to little kids, I mean they class Castiel not wanting them to freakin’ die as him being insane, so I’m really fucking sure they can’t help him process this.”

“Dean,” Sam reached over and pulled Dean’s hands away from the sink. “I can clean this up, you should take him some food, see if he’s awake.”

Dean shrugged away from Sam, and peered into the nearest bag of food, and then the next. “Yeah, dunno if he’ll eat,” Dean picked the second bag up, and then grabbed a packet of fries from the first bag. “Alright if I take this?”

Sam gestured easily. “Yeah, that’s fine,” Sam peered at Dean. “You going to be alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean asked, laughing nastily under his breath. “This didn’t happen to me.”

“Dean.” Sam warned, voice tightened along his throat.

“Don’t you fucking start.” Dean threatened back, angry and righteous about it. “I’m going to go see Cas, and when I get back, you are going to knock whatever you’re trying to do off.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel is awake, but his temperament is mercurial. Dean offered him the food, and Cas drew his lips back and snarled at Dean. As he approached the bed, Castiel shrank, gathering himself, and tracked each step Dean made. When Dean sits down on the edge of the bed, Castiel backed himself to where the bed connects with the wall, hugging close to the side.

“Hey,” Dean held his hands out soothingly in front of him, shuffling on his knees over the bed towards the creature who could bend Dean’s soul inside out, and he does it all like it’s not a terrible idea. “It’s okay.”

Cas has frozen up, pressed against the wall in a tight curl of spine, and when Dean – eyes constantly flickering to Castiel’s face – finally and firmly pressed a single hand on Cas’ arm, Castiel unfroze and leapt forward, pinning Dean down on the bed.

The snapping sound of movement, and Dean’s yelp of surprise has Sam running into the room, marigold rubber gloves uncomfortably small on Sam’s arms. “It’s alright, Sam,” Dean kept his voice soothing. “Cas? Buddy? We’ve talked about personal space.” Dean smiled uncertainly up at the angel who has Dean pressed into the bed.

Dean can feel Castiel’s strength bleeding out, dim and faint, like gauze was placed over it. Something about diverted batteries and ripped open grace and the way there is a clear, ringing note of pain in Cas’ eyes.

Castiel slid away from Dean, settling back against the wall, turned away from both Sam and Dean.

Sam looked between Castiel’s stony, pained hunch of a back, and Dean propped up on his elbows. Dean shrugged, and indicated Sam should go. Sam did so, but only after an eyebrow waggle that said, _call for me if he does that again_.

“We good, Cas?” Dean leaned forward, tucking his legs up towards his body.

Cas made a small grunting noise, leaning even closer to the wall. He gave a half-hearted shrug.

“You good?” Dean asked, frowning round the words, shaking his head. “No, of course you’re not,” Dean shifted closer to Cas. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”

“I don’t need to eat.” Castiel murmured. “I don’t require extra energy.”

“I don’t need half the shit I eat.” Dean shrugged and pulled out a box of fries, dangling it under Cas’ nose meaningfully. “Eat.”

“I don’t want to eat.” Castiel added venomously.

“Yeah well, hate to break it to you but this is comfort food,” Dean shoved the food towards Cas. “You might think you don’t need it, but you do.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Castiel sighed tiredly, and flopped down on the bed. “I would like to rest and repair my grace in peace.”

 

* * *

 

Sam was waiting there for when Dean came out, most of the food bundled into his arms. “Want to split some cold fries?” Dean asked roughly. “Cas didn’t feel like it.”

Dean’s brother snorted, “Of course he didn’t.” Sam took the bag off Dean and walked back towards the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure if simply washing the grace away was a good idea so I-”

Perched on the table were a few beakers of mostly grace, and a bit of blood, and Dean turned to stare at Sam a little sickly.

“Get it off the table, what if- what if Cas came out, Sam.” Dean’s voice was horrendously tight on his ribs. He could scarcely breathe. “Sam.”

Sam set the food down, and swept the vials away. He shoved them into ready boxes and peeled off some already prepared labels. Stamped them onto the wooden boxes, and set them in a tidy stack in his arms. “I was doing that.”

“Sam, that’s wrong.” Dean began, almost stammering. “That’s, dude, that’s sick.”

“Dean,” Sam shuffled over towards a storage room, Dean following, shock giving way to anger. “I know it’s… we can’t just flush grace down the drain.”

“Sam, you’ve got jars of-” Dean glanced towards his back and hissed as quietly as he could, “Dead birdies.”

“Dean, I know you’re,” Sam sighed, slotting the boxes into the storage refrigerator. “You’re still processing, but we’ve gotta be reasonable.”

“Fuck reasonable, you’ve got,” Dean waved his hands, tension rising. “You’re,” He glared at Sam. “What the fuck. What the fuck is wrong with you.” He gestured at the bookshelf. “You’ve got dead babies in those jars and you’re what, storing them?”

“I’ve got dead angelic material.” Sam replied thinly. “I am preserving potentially valuable material.”

“You’ve got Cas’ babies.” Dean stated, voice hollow. “You’re pickling and preserving our baby birds and keeping them in a jar to look at later, and,” Dean wanted to strike Sam, wanted to wring his brother for all his reasonable reasoning reasons. “I can’t. I really can’t, Sammy.”

He stormed from the room, heart punching into his gut, ribs paper-thin.

 

* * *

 

Sam was right, but he was completely wrong. Dean leaned back against Cas’ door letting it click behind him. The nest probably needed deconstructing, taking apart and down to the bones, and Dean still couldn’t. Sam was absolutely right – you can’t just let grace go down to the sewers for all the nasties – but he was wrong where it counted.

Heavens knew, Hells knew, Dean was all about the reasonable lifestyle, but some things took the deep end of playing it safe and bridged into wrong. Like sticking your hand into a kid’s soul, killing innocents for whatever cause you had stuck on you, like keeping samples of the dead children of your friend.

There were lines, and Dean could feel the welling sensation of it being crossed, and he couldn’t handle it: what if Cas had seen? What if Cas found out? What if Cas was helping them sort the archives – he’d stay and eat food because he wanted to – they’d watch some more Disney, or maybe Pulp Fiction – they’d make a mess of every room – leave a trail of cheap food and print-out sheets and Dean’s guns cleaned up and disassembled on a coffee table – what if Cas was sorting out the archives, critical and-

What if he pulled the box loose, and read the date, read Sam’s scant label.

> Angelic Miscarriage

What if Cas looked at Dean like he could have stopped it, or worse opened it up, saw the ancient grace that had peeled out from between his vessel and wings. What if?

 

* * *

 

Dean yanked the boxes out from the cool storage, knew Sam could hear Dean scraping around in the dark and probably knew damn well what Dean was up to. Well, let him.

He buried the grace in a quiet corner, watched wildflowers dance up from the ground, and perish within seconds. Blossomed in purples and sky blues, healthy green leaves wrinkling and withering before his eyes.

He settled on his haunches for a long time, wrapping his fingers in the handle of the shovel.

 

* * *

 

Dean slept in the nest, unwilling to take it apart just right then. Dreamt long but mostly hard about sky blue clinics with green pamphlets and _just wait outside sir_ like he was the one asking for her to do this. Like this was some scare he was washing off of him. Dean woke in a hot sweat, and it cooled on his skin, and he got up, staggered into the shower and washed the dream away.

 

* * *

 

Castiel was sitting at the table when Dean left the shower, even deep in the bunker, Dean swore he could hear some obnoxious bird letting them know it was daylight. It was one of those clear 4am sort of mornings, and Dean pressed his hand to the back of his neck uncertainly. Felt the damp hair at the nape of his neck prickle uneasily.

“Hey there,” Dean strolled dully to Cas’ shoulder. “You doing okay, buddy?”

“I’m good,” Castiel stretched rigidly on the spot. “Somewhat in discomfort, but it is not so severe.”

“Mhm,” Dean took the seat next to Cas, resting his hands in front of him, fingers laced together into a tight clench. “You know none of this is your fault,” He looked up at Castiel from beneath his eyelashes. “Right?”

Castiel blinked at Dean, and tipped his head to the left. “The discomfort is obviously not my fault.” Dean was just starting to wonder if maybe angels didn’t feel things the way humans did here – the way, fuck it, Dean felt it. He was starting to question if the hiccough of grief he’d seen was just that, just a hiccough-

When Cas stood up from the table and left the room, not even meeting Dean’s eyes, back straightened and face set like it’d been fashioned from carved bones, and marble.

Dean could taste denial when it sat on his own tongue, he could most definitely taste it when it was thrown at him like it was something new.

 

* * *

 

Dean noticed two things, firstly that Sam didn’t comment on the missing samples, and secondly that Castiel was knee-deep in pain. Not physical, that had largely faded within the first few days, no, much trickier. A lithe sort of pain that rattled in Cas’ expressions as a smile gone all wrong.

Cas hardly ever smiled if he meant it, but the guy was downright smiley when he didn’t. Dean didn’t like it.

It had taken him weeks to decide what to do; whether or not he should get over the new, somewhat smiley Castiel that made Dean’s heart fucking break. Maybe Dean was interfering in a perfectly valid grieving process, maybe he just wanted to see someone else with nightmares and shakes and the sudden reminder that no matter what you saved, you lost things. Maybe it was a selfish feeling.

Maybe he shouldn’t have seized Cas, dragged him protesting, angrily into Castiel’s room. Slammed the door behind him, left the nest right in the open for Cas to confront.

Dean had been sleeping in the nest, on-and-off anyway. He’d say mostly on, but it was mostly off, until it wasn’t. Which was sort of the definition for on and off again. It was like his heart was on a switch, like he could open and close it off whenever it got too hard. It was like it was about time for both of them to cut it open, dissect the dead things inside of them.

Some half-dead grief, broken and bedraggled from years back. Something fresh and ugly and dead so quickly. Something lurking in the back of Dean's head like love, bleeding through between the pain.

He glared at Castiel, mouth thin and sharp.

“We are not letting this rot inside us.” Dean stated fiercely.

 

* * *

 

They ended up – and what was that meant to mean? Ended up – curled in the Nest, kicking the walls out with their legs, letting it demolish lightly around them.

Ended up like this was the conclusion of the whole matter. Like you go from fighting a lindworm to asking if maybe he’d name one of his kids after to you to making a nest and then crawling into it when everything went wrong. Like this was some normal process that every friendship needed, right up there with a coast to coast roadtrip, and getting pissed on the town together. Like sure, holding your friend as he vomited out his alien offspring into your brother’s wastepaper basket, sure, who hasn’t done that once?

So, they ended up in the nest, letting it go to pieces around them.

 

* * *

 

“I miss our baby birds.” Dean murmured, tossing one of the egg cartons to the floor.

“Me too.” Castiel agreed, and then swallowed. “I thought about tempting you with my grace, as though you were an angel.”

“It’s okay, no foul.” Dean grinned dryly at Cas. “Another thing you’d have Sidriel do right? No big deal.” He rolled over to look at Castiel. “Don’t.”

“Don’t… don’t what?” Castiel asked, lost. “There’s a lot you might want me to not do.”

“Don’t go looking for replacements,” Dean insisted. “Don’t grab someone else’s feathers, and wrap yourself up in them, don’t do that.”

“I’m lonely.” Cas stated. “Empty.”

“Be lonely with me, then?” Dean asked bluntly.

“Dean, you’re,” Castiel looked Dean up and down. “You’re human,” Cas looked genuinely apologetic, like it was creeping up through his eyes, that deep sorrow. “You are not enough for me.”

“Oh, well,” Dean swallowed roughly round his next few words – a handful, mouthful of thumbtacks. “I’m, this is. Fuck.” He had never felt so bad – embarrassed and ashamed – for his DNA.

Cas followed Dean’s eyes, swept over him, flooded and sky blue and perfectly enough.

Swallowing and breathing were too difficult to consider, so Dean squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. “I’m sorry then, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Dean opened his eyes, and frowned at Castiel, trying to will himself to crawl out of the withered nest. Found himself held there like gravity wrapped around him; weeds at the bottom of a lake, and about his heels, like he was drowning. Breathing in gallons of water with each inhale.

And Cas kissed him like air, like life, like lights in shallow water, like the world was flooding around Dean’s ears and eyes and he tasted like salt. Pressed a hand to Dean’s neck like CPR.

The other one winding into Dean’s fingertips.

“I changed my mind,” Castiel stole a breath, and Dean felt addled, roots to sternum. “I changed my mind, you are enough.” Stole a nervy glance at Dean. “I don’t…”

Dean breathed out, easy.

“What did that, then?” Dean grinned, less easy. “I’m as mud-monkey as I was less than a minute ago.” The grin died. “We can’t be enough for each other; what can we give each other that we want?”

Cas paused, licked his cracked lips in consideration.

“It’s more like need, actually.” He admitted, delicately as though the matter could be measured objectively, and smiled, shyly, finely, teeth bright and eyes dull.

"I can't grace you." Dean repeated. "I can't give you fledglings."

"Nor can I." Castiel admitted. "I'm not female."

"Angels lack clearly delineated genders." Dean said with wry amusement, leaning in closer like he had opened a window up and was sucking in the fresh air. "I can cope, I can make do," Grinned haplessly, almost helplessly. Need was simplistic - the push and pull of two bodies - this was want, and that was a nightmare. Absolute hell in an empty ribcage. "I can't angel singularity thing."

"Isn't this good enough?" Cas murmured. "It's not," His voice cracked round a gulp. "It's not what I expected, but it's what I want. That feels like it's enough."

"This, Cas," Dean almost shook his head. "I don't think you get to want these problems away."

"I want to live with them." Cas insisted. "I want to live with our loneliness, and emptiness, and incompletion; I don't want this to rot away in me until it's nothing." He reached out, withdrew, froze up. "I don't want this to amount to nothing, I want to live with this, you, so..."

“So, we’ll…”

“Work it out later.” Cas nodded. “Like the birds, like everything.”

“Lazy…” Dean managed, and reached out to grab Cas, pull them together and breathe a little less heavily.


End file.
